The New Detective
by Badgergater
Summary: Summary: The Bronx narcotics squad gets a new detective


The New Detective

By Badgergater

POI- pre-Season 4 with spoilers for Panopticon

Summary: The Bronx narcotics squad gets a new detective

Author's note: Thanks as always to my beta Lynn and to my friend Corine for the gift of POI

-POI poi POI poi POI- -POI poi POI poi POI-

I wasn't expecting to get a new detective assigned to my precinct. We'd been running short-handed for months, ever since last fall when all the crooked cops in HR had been taken down. Even an organization as large as the NYPD can't absorb a loss like that without feeling the effects. Every precinct had been hit at least to some extent- hundreds of officers were gone. And then the situation had been exacerbated by the recent bombing when not only had the police department's death toll been significant, but many additional officers had of necessity been reassigned to the ongoing investigation.

So to say it was a turbulent time in the Bronx's finest narcotics squad (no brag, just fact) was an understatement.

It was therefore a major surprise to arrive at my office that morning and find a personnel file being delivered to my desk. "New detective for you, Cap," the desk sergeant informed me as he dropped a thin manila folder onto my desk.

A very thin folder. What was I getting, a damn fresh-from-the-academy rookie?

Opening the folder was the second big surprise of my morning. Not a rookie, not even close.

John Riley, age 40, a veteran detective with years of experience including previous assignments in narcotics. Career interrupted several times by being called up for military service with a National Guard unit for a combined three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan over the past decade. His headshot was like most that came across my desk- an unenlightening bland expression on the face below world weary eyes.

There was nothing spectacular in his NYPD records, no high profile arrests but no black marks either. It was entirely routine in fact, except for the extensive amount of redacted material- page after page after page of it. This guy must have done some heavy deep cover shit for whoever he'd been working with.

I hadn't had a chance to do more than skim over the high points of the file when Sgt. Harriman was back, knocking on my door. "Hey Cap, he's here," Walter informed me.

"He who?"

"The new guy."

I looked at my watch. It was 7:05 a.m. - unusually prompt for a narcotics cop, who as a rule tend to be a little than less than spit-and-polish early birds but more out-of-the-box-and-time-is-flexible kind of guys. Well, no time like the present to meet John Riley. "Send him in," I ordered, crossing my fingers that I was getting a helpful asset in the new guy, because Lord knew we needed one.

I took off the glasses I'd donned to read his file and looked up in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered man making his way across the squad room, following in Walter's wake.

John Riley walked into my office, slumped into the chair and- without overtly seeming to do so- carefully scanned the cluttered room. Finally, he leisurely let his eyes meet mine. It wasn't like a detective meeting his new boss but more like a lion studying its future supper.

No greeting, either.

The air in the room went suddenly cold. I had to resist the urge to check and see if the window behind me had inexplicably flown open and let in a frigid winter wind.

The silence stretched.

In his photo the man might have been unremarkable, but in person there was nothing bland about John Riley. He radiated intensity. His eyes were at least a thousand years old. Yes, this man had been there and back. Likely more than once. And I was pretty sure wherever it was he'd been I didn't ever want to go.

This guy was scary. Now I'm not easily spooked. You can't do what I do and be intimidated by anyone because I deal with a lot of seriously menacing people- crooks and criminals and yes, even a few of the men and women who work for me.

Narcotics detectives aren't like other cops. They have an edge and they need it because they walk hip deep in the dark underbelly of society among the ruthless, cold-blooded and brutal world of drug dealers.

But this guy? There was something about him- something chilling- something in that seemingly innocuous gaze that made it clear that if I got in his way, boss or no boss, cop or no cop, he'd just as soon shoot me as look at me. And it wasn't an act. I'm good at smelling out phonies, tough guy wannabes and false bravado and there wasn't a hint of that in John Riley.

He smiled, thinly. Coldly. Warily. It was as if he was trying to be friendlier than he was.

I was getting an odd vibe, not that he was the least bit crooked but that he definitely didn't want to be here. There was seething anger and frustration simmering just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. Over the transfer? Or because of something else?

I decided the right course to take with him would be to show him my equally bland side (yes, I do have one). Getting off on the right foot with a new detective is important. "Welcome to the Bronx, John. I just got your file so I haven't had time to read it. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" I sat back in my chair and gave him my best relaxed and in control look.

I guess I should have skipped the 'little' because he took me at my word- he was brutally succinct in summing up a long career. "I started out in the Army, then joined the NYPD when my enlistment was up. Worked in Queens and Brooklyn before I got called up with the Guard. When I got back, I was tabbed to work a special assignment for the Feds."

"Narcotics?"

"Undercover."

"A long time."

His world weary sigh was genuine. "Too long."

I knew that was the most sincere answer he'd given me and one that explained a lot about the aura he projected. "That's why your jacket is so thin for a man with your experience," I summed up for him.

He nodded. I had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that there was a subtle undertone to this conversation that I knew nothing about, like he and I were talking about two entirely different things. Then again, I reminded myself, he was a veteran undercover narc and working for the Feds who knew what he'd seen. A lot of those deep cover guys were pretty damn unusual, downright odd even. A man had to be to do the work this man had done- to live as someone you weren't, day after day, every minute of your life risking exposure and with it death.

I let his attitude slide. I wasn't going to change it- that was obvious- but I could damn well make use of him and his skills. "I'm glad you're here, Riley. We can use a man of your experience."

He gave me that disconcerting slight smile again. It still didn't reach his eyes.

I continued. "Sgt. Harriman will assign you a desk and get you any help you need. Unfortunately I don't have anyone available just now to assign as your partner…"

"I like to work alone."

I just bet he did. "Call me if you've got any problems settling in, John."

He nodded, stood and walked out.

As I watched him walk away, the uneasiness returned.

This man was a walking bundle of secrets. If he ever told me his story, I knew it would be a whopper.

-POI poi POI poi POI-

Riley quickly proved me right. He hit the ground running and was as unorthodox and effective as I'd anticipated, bagging a pair of street dealers on his first shift. Though his methods tended to drift outside the box, even by narc squad standards, he got the job done. How could I complain about that? My squad was chronically short on personnel and in desperate need of improving our arrest records with some good busts. Who was I to question a sudden increase in suspects falling down staircases, running into doors, or shooting other suspects? I ignored the just-a-tiny-bit-too-gleeful smile Riley displayed while dragging his bloodied arrestees into the station's lockup. A man ought to enjoy his work.

He had a couple of big takedowns, really cranked up my squad's stats, and then he was gone as suddenly as he came. Promoting Riley that fast was unusually quick action by the normally red tape bound NYPD- and to Manhattan homicide no less.

Then again, I knew there were all kinds of things I didn't know about who he was and what he'd been doing during those years undercover, and he of course never dropped so much as a single hint. Hell, I didn't even know what he'd been doing for 90% of the time he'd been working for me- filling out paperwork wasn't exactly his strong point, even though apprehending bad guys definitely was.

With a sigh, I signed his transfer papers and called Riley into my office. He walked in, slouched the same way into the same chair and looked at me with the same icy gaze. I guess I still hadn't made it onto his friends list.

"You've been transferred, John."

He smiled crookedly with a hint of both satisfaction and studied nonchalance.

Damn, he knew something I didn't.

"I'm sad to see you go, Detective. You've been very effective here." I stood and held out my hand to shake his.

"It's been fun," he said in that same dead level voice that left me wondering just what it was that he was hiding behind the bland façade. John Riley shook my hand with a grip as hard as granite and then he was gone, taking that lurking sense of foreboding with him.

I watched him go over to his spartan desk and load the scant few personal items he had into a bankers box- a picture of a German Shepherd type dog, three extra ammo clips, a gun cleaning kit, and half a dozen manila folders that might have included lists of CIs, suspect dossiers, or lasagna recipes for all I knew about the man. Then he walked out of my squad room without a backward glance.

As Riley left, I shivered and silently wished his new boss good luck. I had the feeling that my old friend Felicia Moreno, who I knew was soon to become captain of the 8th precinct, was going to need it.


End file.
